


Her Dream

by Open_Sky



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: And it's not even good, But I couldn't get it out in time, F/M, I just hope the next will be better, I wanted this for the Jonerys Week, Jonerys Week 2018, Let's be optimists, My first attempt at smut and it's shit, i'm so late, lol, prompt: dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-07-16 13:24:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Open_Sky/pseuds/Open_Sky
Summary: "But don't you remember? We've met before.""We have?""Of course! You said yourself. Once upon a dream."-- Sleeping Beauty, DisneyHe couldn’t possibly know that, of course. They never spoke about actualities. Names, plans, battles. None of that existed here, and she was just as grateful as sad because of it, since it meant that this was really nothing but a dream, a dream she made up for herself unconsciously.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first time trying to write smut. Man, I wouldn't have imagined that it's so hard! I spent hours with this stuff and I still grimace when I look at it. Whatever, I hope it's readable :)

“I know you want me, Your Grace,” he smirked smugly, and she felt a tinge of lust coursing through her system. But that’s what it was– lust, nothing more, nothing less. She had never lain with anyone since Drogo, and even if she felt the desire warming her insides, this would not be the day she fell in bed with another. _Except maybe,_ started a silent voice in her head _... but he doesn’t even exist, Dany._

There was so much falsehood in her life. Now her heart yearned for something kind and genuine, someone who really cared for her and not only for bedding a queen. It was not a mere joining of bodies she wanted with no emotions involved, no. She didn't want this, not now, not ever.

She wanted someone, but not this man who stood before her. She wanted someone to show her _love_ , not only desire either for her body or her power.

_But who could love a dragon?_

And she was a queen. What if she was to marry in order to maintain the peace? A lover certainly wouldn’t make things easier. It was not the first time she thought of this option, and she felt the familiar clench of her heart at the idea. _Breaker of Chains I am, yet I’m the one wearing the shackles._

“It’s your Second Sons I want, Daario. Not you.”

“Daenerys,” he stepped closer, his eyes glinting with hunger and amusement, and suddenly she felt the urge to slap him. “You already have my men. I serve you, so let me do it properly.” The hard bulge in his pants showed her just how much he would have liked to ‘serve her properly’, but she only looked away, not even a bit pretending the indifference, or rather annoyance that got a hold of her.

“You won’t regret it, I can assure you,” he winked, and that was the last drop in the glass.

“And I can assure you, both my guards out there will be glad to butcher an uninvited visitor in my room whom I tolerated here until now but no longer will,” her voice cold and queenly, she folded her arms over her chest. “Out.”

“Dae–”

“Now. And don’t ever use my name without my permission.”

Daario regarded her a moment longer, then bowed his head, although the smirk – even if it faded ever so slightly – wouldn’t leave his lips. “As you wish, My Queen. You know where to find me should you change your mind.”

 

After he stepped out, Daenerys heaved a sigh. Maybe she shouldn’t have denied herself a little pleasure to relieve the pent up tension in her body... Then again, what good would it have done? _There are better ways to erase the stress anyway, both in the shoulders and in the mind,_ she thought fondly as she looked at her bed.

_I wonder if I will meet him tonight._

Because the night, the night was the time when she could let everything go, when she didn't have to worry about feeding her men, establishing the peace, quieting the supporters of the old system. The night was the time when _he_ found her, a time she could feel finally free.

She lay on the bed carefully so that her gown wouldn’t get tucked under her, and tried to empty her head of the swirling thoughts. The faint breeze that slipped through the half-open window caressed her face, and she relished the fine touches.

 

The mattress creaked next to her, and soon she felt a hard chest pressing against her back.

“You seem a bit tired,” she heard the gruff voice she grew to love so much.

“Hard day,” she sighed, and a matching sound came from behind her. Daenerys smiled despite herself, albeit weakly. “I’m not alone, I guess.” He chuckled.

“Aye.” His arms tightened around her, and she leaned back into him. How many times have they met? Dany wouldn’t know, yet it felt like they knew each other for months, years. Maybe they had. He buried his nose into her hair before speaking again, like he willed her to shelter him from the hard truth of his words. “I’m afraid,” he breathed out.

She covered his knuckles with her palm. “What are you afraid of?”

“My decisions,” his voice was a mere whisper, barely audible. “I was meant to fight, not to determine fates.”

She shifted in his arms and as his hold loosened around her she turned. “Someone has to.”

“But why must this someone be me?”

Her brows furrowed, understanding all too well his point, so she raised her eyes to meet his gaze, and cupped his cheek. He had a beautiful face with his grey eyes and full lips, and the beginning of something like a sideburn. Daenerys had never found someone so handsome. “I don’t know. But I’m sure you are doing well.”

He smiled sceptically. “How can you be so sure? We’ve never met before.”

“We did. Here. And,” she grinned, “I saw just enough of you to tell how capable you are.”

He raised his eyebrows, and she took it as a sign to continue. “You always speak fondly of your men. Your friends, if you will. You mourn them if you lose anyone,” she remembered that one time when he cried through the night –the dream– in her arms for his dead, “and you would never send someone into unnecessary danger, no matter if you like them personally or not.”

“No–”

She shook her head to silence him. “That in itself, that you care for them,” one of her hands moved to the centre of his chest and pressed down, “means that you have the heart of a true king.”

“Is that enough?”

“Who knows? But it’s already more than most leaders have.”

His lips quirked upwards. “You have it too, the heart of a queen.”

 _Well, I am a queen. Or at least I try to be._ He couldn’t possibly know that, of course. They never spoke about actualities. Names, plans, battles. None of that existed here, and she was just as grateful as sad because of it, since it meant that this was really nothing but a dream, a dream she made up for herself unconsciously.

“You think?”

“I know.”

She chuckled, “I believe you if you believe me,” she murmured with her brows raised and a smile on her lips.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” He brushed his fingers against her collarbone, thoughtful. It occurred to her that they haven't done anything _of that kind_ before, they were always just talking and comforting each other, and that was perfectly enough... yet now...

Now she realised how much she wanted someone to be with her, to love her.

 _Besides,_ she thought bitterly, _no one can hold my acts against me if my lover doesn’t even exist._ Why not? This was her secret, these strange dreams that felt so real, maybe here she could finally be a bit selfish.

She leaned closer to him, their noses almost touching.

His eyes widened slightly. “What are you doing?”

They knew each other without actually knowing anything, and even if he was only birthed by her own mind to make her time here easier, in this accursed former city of slaves... Even if he was her own subconscious trying to give her strength that she could then share with the freed people, even then... She wanted to have this for herself.

“Make me forget, please,” she whispered against his lips.

 

How she had never noticed the hard muscles on his back, the fine globes of his arse, the perfect shape of him, she couldn’t comprehend. Not that she could comprehend anything at that moment, because every conscious thought fled from her mind the instant his mouth touched hers.

He was on top, kissing her, ravishing her, making her moan as his hand found its way between her legs. She was soaked already, and she couldn’t help but gasp as a finger slipped inside easily, soon followed by a second one. The sensation was entirely new, –this kind of foreplay not having a part in the Dothraki way – but not unwelcome.

“Oh,” she was whimpering now as his thumb pressed against that hard nub above her lower lips, drawing small circles around it. She would never have imagined that such pleasure could be found only by touching. “Gods,” she panted, even though she did not believe in any.

With a last, long kiss he broke away from her, only to latch his mouth to her neck, sucking and licking, so hard that she was sure there would be marks come the morning, not like she minded, though.

Dany fisted the sheets under as her he lowered his head to her bosom, closing his lips around a nipple while his left hand massaged her other breast. She squeaked as he pinched down lightly, but it shortly turned into a sound of disappointment as his other hand moved away from her throbbing centre. She tried to follow him but he held her down, _fast_ , with a wolfish grin on his face.

“Patience,” he murmured when their eyes met. “Let me take care of you.”

With growing anticipation and a hint of self-consciousness she watched as he moved even lower, leaving a wet trail of kisses through her chest and abdomen, then finally reaching her silver curls, which were glistening with her essence.

Now visibly shaking, she squirmed.

“What–” she started, but at that moment he dove in and whatever words rested on her tongue disappeared, giving way to the loud moans she couldn’t help but let out as he licked at her. She sank her fingers into his hair in a desperate attempt to hold him there, although it seemed like he didn't need forcing at all, like satiating his hunger for her was the only thing on his mind. He knew just the right places aim at, so it didn't take long for him to make her walls quiver and her toes curl, and a few more twirls of tongue and sucks on that tiny bundle of nerves had her fall apart with a scream as the white hot pleasure engulfed her.

By the time she came back to her senses he was already up with her again, and smirked at her, self-satisfied.

She mirrored his expression and hooked an arm around his neck, pulling him down to give him a long, deep kiss. “Where in the Seven Hells did you learn that?” she asked grinning when he pulled back.

“You liked it?”

“I loved it.”

“Good,” he said, and kissed her once more.

She was barely surprised that desire started pooling in her loins again, hungry for him, and she reached down to take him in her hand. It was his turn to moan as she stroked his cock a few times, enjoying the sounds he made.

Shortly he put a hand over hers to still her motions, the small shake of his head indicating that he wouldn’t last if she kept going. They locked eyes as he positioned himself, the head of him pressed against her entrance.

 _He is so beautiful,_ she thought. His eyes were dark grey, she felt like she could drown in their depth, and she wished to bury their light into her very soul...

But then he was pushing inside her, stretching her, filling her oh, so perfectly, and she gasped at the wonderful intrusion. Panting, he stopped for a moment to let them catch their breaths. His eyes bore into hers, the silence before the storm, then their lips crashed together, his muscles flexing before he pulled back and thrust into her again, and she cried out, it was only him and her, and the flames around them that swallowed her whole, and she was burning now, burning, burning alive.

She arched her back to meet his thrusts, the change of angle causing him to continuously hit _that_ spot inside of her. Hands having gone around his back her nails cut into his flesh, scratching, probably even drawing blood, but she didn't care. Suddenly, everything around them shattered, and she heard herself screaming as waves of pleasure rippled through her, a few moments before the world dissolved into pure darkness.

 

The orange rays of the meereenese dawn woke her. She didn't open her eyes at first because she knew what she would see, and she knew how much it would hurt.  She could... Just for a few more minutes, she wanted to pretend that he was still with her, that he was not only a dream, that he would help her, he would _love her_.

But the night was gone, and she was a queen now. It didn't matter what she wanted. Slowly, she pressed her hand against her collarbone, then her shoulder. No sting of pain, no trace of his lips, his teeth.

She turned in her bed and opened her eyes.

It was empty, no one beside her. She was alone. A teardrop ran down on the side of her face. She didn't even remember how he looked like, she never did. He was the beautiful shadow that crept into her dreams, the night’s phantom that made the daylight bearable, and she welcomed him, but it had never hurt so much to let him go, not until now.

The only thing she could recall was his eyes, deep, grey and honest. She closed her own, and let the tears fall.

Queen she may be, but for a moment, she would let herself mourn for the one she can never have.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years later, Jon's perspective with a little of Dany's PoV at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I have to thank for all those people who commented on this fic and encouraged me to write a sequel. The response was owerwhelming, I've never expected that so many people would like and read it. Thank you! 
> 
> Also, a big shout-out to Sobakasu_85 for reading through this beforehand and assuring me that it wasn't a complete shit. (I won't say I'm totally convinced, but we'll see :))
> 
> And last but not least, I owe a big thanks to Aliciutza and NoOrdinaryLines who would remember this fic and always kindly remind me that I promised to continue it, lol. And of course, all the love to my Soft Bitches <3
> 
> No quality assurance but I hope it's enjoyable.

Jon’s eyes trailed over the mighty hall, his eyes stopping at the silver-haired figure atop the throne. She was beautiful, he could tell even from afar, but the thing that struck him the most was that unmistakable air of authority and determination surrounding her petite form. He had never met anyone like this, it all felt so foreign... Yet so _familiar._

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains,” recited the woman who was introduced as Missandei, the queen’s most trusted advisor.

 _They mean to intimidate me._ He knew it well, the dragons, the soldiers surrounding them, the grand, dark throne room, and the queen herself on the ancestral seat of the Targaryens, it was all for him, to make him cower. He clenched his scarred fist nervously, trying not to frown at the silent voice that kept nagging him from the inside.

 _‘I was meant to fight, not to determine fates,’_ He heard the words in his mind, like a hundred years old memory coming back to the surface – he was sure they were _his_ words, even though he didn't remember ever uttering them.

His legs felt heavy, his breath came hard.

But he couldn’t give in.

 _‘Someone has to.’_ It was the voice of another, one he could not recognise, but one that filled him with warmth and the strength to stand straight, to approach the stairs before the throne with a raised head.

He was a king.

 

His breath hitched as she stepped still forward. She was close now, close enough for him to see the light reflecting in her eyes, eyes widened with recognition.

Recognition? No, he must have imagined that, it was only because of his own impossible thoughts. She... They... This was the very first time he saw her, wasn't it? But then what was this feeling, like he was gazing into those beautiful, lilac orbs for the thousandth time?

Like he already knew her voice, only in his memories it was not firm and demanding but soft, kind and full of...

Memories? What memories?

_‘Someone has to.’_

_‘But why must this someone be me?’_

_‘I don’t know. But I’m sure you are doing well.’_

It felt like something scratching on a door, seeking entrance, trying to get into his head. Words he had never heard, words he had never said. Or had he?

No, his mind was playing tricks on him.

But her eyes. He knew those eyes, although he had no idea from where, he knew them. As strange and irrational it seemed even for him, he’d seen them already, he was sure. Somewhere. _But where? Damn it._

It was terrifying, yet the thing that terrified him most was that her stare strangely filled something in the depth of him, like a missing part of his soul returned to stop up this hollowness he had been feeling.

“I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms. And I will,” she pronounced the words slowly but forcefully. He straightened himself and looked her dead in the eye.

“You may do that, for a while. But once they killed us they’ll come here and destroy everything in their wake.” He sighed, a sudden, unexpected and terrible pain in his chest at the thought of her being slaughtered by _them._ He fought off the urge to reach out and hold her hands – they were here to convince her, not to have themselves burned alive because of some stupidity of his. “You’ll be ruling over a graveyard, if we don’t defeat the Night King.”

It was only a fleeting second, but he saw it in her small intake of breath, her shift of position. For a moment she believed him, and she was frightened. A picture of her flashed in his mind, cuddled in his arms, crying, and the sudden urge to comfort her made him take an almost unnoticeable step back.

 _Because I need your help and you need mine,_ he told her minutes ago, but only now, in this passing silence of understanding did he realise that it was not only about their armies and their people, it was about _them_ too.

He felt like _he_ needed _her_ and _she_ needed _him_.

Like they needed each other.

 

 

The light of the candle was dancing on his hand. The scar was old, so old, yet the skin still flexed uncomfortably when he clenched his fist.

That was the first time he saw a wight. He still remembered that sinister, murderous silence that greeted him when he stepped out on the courtyard, the creak of the hinge as he opened the Lord Commander’s door, the dead black brother’s empty, blue eyes.

Empty, blue eyes staring at him as they sailed away from Hardhome, thousands of dead bodies rising as that creature raised his arms.

He shuddered, the familiar feeling of dread gripping his heart.

They had to defeat them, or everything was lost, and again he wondered if this great responsibility on his shoulder was really meant for him. He was just a bastard.

But he was a king too, and this king had to convince Daenerys somehow.

 _Daenerys_.

Gods, why was he calling her Daenerys? _You don’t call a bloody queen on her first name, damn it._ Yet he knew exactly why, why he felt this overwhelming familiarity. Because she resembled so much to _her._

Jon hadn’t thought of those dreams in years. The last time he saw _her_ during the night’s rest was way before he died, when he was still beyond the wall with the Free Folk. Ygritte knew. For a while she wouldn’t say it out loud, but he saw on her face that she knew it. Then once, when they were in that cave she asked who stole his heart, leaving only his body for her.

 _‘My heart is in its place,’_ he said. But she only laughed.

_‘You know nothing, Jon Snow.’_

He cared for Ygritte, yet every night he was waiting with remorse and anticipation for _she_ to come, for _her_ to make him forget his past and future betrayals, his pain, his hurt, his mistakes.

She was the only person who made him feel truly loved, who helped him cope with his constant guilt. She was the one of whose arms he could cry in, she was the one who let her tears fall while in his arms, she was the one who believed in him even if she didn't know a thing about what he was doing.

She was the only one, even if she didn't exist. _Or exactly because of that._ He was alone in his misery for too long so probably he made up someone for himself, a person who finally understood him.

He felt ridiculous now, as the strange yearning for _her_ so abruptly returned, so much that he imagined Daenerys Targaryen in his dream lover’s place.

 _They have the same eyes,_ a traitorous little voice in his head reminded him.

Yes, they did, and that fact only intensified that damn ache in his heart, filled it with the terrible longing he tried to suppress all these years. He had no fucking time to feel so miserable. _Lonely._

With an annoyed sigh he stood, stretching his numb limbs; it was enough useless thinking for a day. For a night too, as it was already way past midnight. Jon sat on his bed and started pulling off his boots, then got rid of the hard leathers covering his upper body, leaving only the much lighter tunic that was underneath. The Gods know why he hadn’t done that the moment he stepped in his chambers, now his muscles were all tense and sore.

Finally, he removed the hidden dagger strapped to his thigh and put it next to his pillow.

 _If I was given such a nice bed I might as well use it._ His bed in Winterfell was much better than the one he slept in on the Wall, but even that didn’t compare to this. _Southerners and their fancies, huh._

 

He stepped to the table to put the candle out but suddenly he halted. Ever since his resurrection his senses were sharpened, his brothers’ painful betrayal making him wary of every little sound and movement around him. And now he was sure _someone_ was standing right outside his room.

_Knock._

_Knock._

_Knock._

Three little rap rippled through the silence, and his knife already in hand he silently approached the door. This couldn’t mean anything good. _Either Davos because we’ve got a problem or it is someone else._

Carefully he slid the bolt open and pulled at the door handle, his weapon in the door’s coverage but ready to strike.

Except there was no need for it.

“Your Grace?” His eyes widened in surprise as he opened the door fully.

“Lord Snow.” If he didn't know better he would’ve said the look on her face was uneasy, almost apprehensive. He blinked a few times, perplexed, not quite knowing what to do with the situation. An awkward moment passed between them before he finally found his tongue, mentally punching himself for acting like a real fool.

“I– uh– how can I help you?” Gods, his ears were burning.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. To him, it resembled pretty much of what he would do when coming to a hard decision. “May I come in?” she asked.

Jon wordlessly stepped aside and let her in, still trying to comprehend what was happening. Daenerys Targaryen, nighttime and alone, seeking him out in his room. She couldn’t have known he wasn't sleeping, yet she came, _and she came right now._

She wore the same dark dress he saw on her earlier, and he wondered why she hadn’t changed into something more comfortable... Although thinking about the queen changing clothes seemed a very bad idea as an unknown, dangerous part of him also started to wonder of how she would look without her clothes on.

“Do I seem that dangerous?”

He snapped his head towards her, and she nodded towards his hand, his fingers wrapped around the dagger’s hilt. “Oh.” he threw the blade on the sheets, chuckling. “I couldn’t have known who ’t was. You do seem dangerous, though.”

She let out a laugh, and the sound reminded him of the hot springs in Winterfell, so warm and so wonderful in that cold world. His tiredness gone, he couldn’t help but smile at her.

“I can be. But my Lord... I could’ve sworn I asked for your weapons.” She looked serious now but he didn't miss the mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Oh yes, I’m so sorry. I totally forgot that it was with me.” Seeing her playful scepticism he laughed. _Shite._ He shouldn’t feel so comfortable around her, after all– “I’d be a fool to trust a stranger, Your Grace.” _It seems like I am._

She sighed. “Indeed.”

 

Quickly, he glanced around in the room, then remembered that he had no wine to offer her, he himself pretty much being a guest here. _Thank the Gods at least there are two chairs._

“I know It’s a quite... inconvenient time,” Daenerys started after they sat down, her eyes fixated on her clasped hands. “But I felt like I needed to speak with you.” Now she looked at him, and he was mesmerised by the fire he found in her violet orbs.

Just like _hers._

“ ’S no bother, Your Grace. I wasn't sleeping. So,” he ran his hand through his hair nervously, “what did you want to speak about?”

Daenerys opened her mouth but closed it almost immediately like she wanted to say something but reconsidered. “This Army of the Dead,” she finally said, “is it– is it real? Is that _really_ the reason you are here?” she looked at him dead in the eye, her gaze seeking the truth, and he offered it.

“Aye. I was honest, Your Grace. As am I now. It’s all real, it’s coming for us all, and if we don’t work together we’ll lose everything.” He looked at his bare feet, saying what he knew to be true. “If it wasn't real I wouldn’t be here.” He knew from her tense intake of breath that these words were not welcome in the least, but she willed him to continue.

“I wouldn’t have answered your call. My people don’t like my decision to come ‘ere, they think I’m but a fool to accept an invitation of the Mad King’s daughter. I don’t judge you, but that hard-headed folk is not able to forget our dire history just like that. And I would’ve listened to them because _they_ chose me to be their king, which means I can't bend the knee to you. And I’d rather die on the battlefield than to be executed by a queen, or any monarch for that matter.”

Although, had it not been for the dead he wouldn’t even be a king. He wouldn’t have accepted it.

Her stare was sad but hard. “I don’t wish to fight you.”

 _Fighting you is the last thing I want,_ his mind screamed, but his lips wouldn’t utter the words.

“Fight _with_ us,” he urged. “You are our sole chance, only they don’t see it. But they _will_ see it, eventually, and if you are there to fight for them, for every people, they might accept that you are the queen the North needs.”

Jon was sure Sansa would have a fit if she heard what he was saying, along with most of the northerners, but he didn't care. He met her only hours ago, yet at that moment he believed what he said, more than anything.

That she’d be a worthy queen.

Was it foolish, relying on his instincts so? Absolutely.

Did he care? No. Not when she looked at him with those eyes, those very eyes, _her eyes._

 

The candle had almost burned down by the time the queen finally stood with a tired sigh. She had been there for hours, although he didn't feel like it was all that long. He told her what he could, despite their time not being nearly enough to cover everything, and despite a little voice in his mind constantly reminding him that it was too _fucking_ soon to confide in her.

“And are you sure this _dragonglass_ ” she furrowed her eyebrows in consideration, “is on the island? Will you be able to find it?”

“Aye.” he followed her to the door, hoping against all odds that his face didn't show the ugly, confused mess that filled the space where usually his thoughts were kept. “My friend at the Citadel found a map with the right place, I don’t think it’d take more than a few hours to locate it.”

Daenerys nodded, her hands clasped together tightly, her countenance once again the same like when she knocked on his door. An expression of uneasiness, confusion and anxiety. _Why?_ He wondered.

The door opened, and with his stomach in knots, he waited for her to bid a good night and step out. He didn't want her to go.

But she remained silent, her fingers curled around the door’s handle, not moving an inch. Then with an unexpected momentum she shut the door and spun around.

“Jon, please tell me something. Do we know each other?”

His breath hitched. Of all the questions she could’ve asked, this was one he hadn’t expected the least. “Your Grace...” Everything he remembered of his dreams he tried to shut out during that afternoon, during the whole night, yet now the images all started to come back running. Pictures of her under him, beside him, filled his mind, and his eyes widened in shock.

Violet eyes flashed and she took a step closer to him. “Are we really strangers, Jon Snow?”

It was her.

 _Gods, it’s her._ He was sure now, and she knew it too, he could see it on her face. His vision blurred as he shook his head. “No. No, we aren't,” and then he was embracing her to him, her sweet scent filling his nostrils, her head tucked securely under his chin. _We aren't._ He felt her arms hesitantly come up, like she could believe this just as hard as him, and she hugged his middle.

“Jon. Jon,” she repeated, the word lightly rolling off her lips. “It hurt so much that I have never known your name,” she whispered.

He knew, since it was painful for him too. But it didn't matter anymore, for he was there and she was there too, they were together and that was all that mattered and _shit_ the tears spilled over even though he tried so hard to hold them back–

At the first brush of her lips against his, the world seemed to still around them. How was _all this_ possible?

“Jon,” she traced the line of his jaw with her lips, “make me remember.”

It didn't matter.

 

 

Her back collided loudly with the hard wood as he pushed her up against the door, his hands on her hips, his lips parted, breathing hard against her mouth. He would make her, make _them_ remember of the nights they spent together, when they laid in each other’s arms, when they could shield each other from the nightmares. In their dream.

The dream they shared, the dream he now knew was very much real.

He kissed the spot under her ear, but almost immediately leaned back as something sharp pushed into his shoulder. It was the silver dragon-brooch attached to her dress. With a newfound annoyance he threw the offending item to the floor and cursed under his breath, then he was tugging, tearing at the dark fabric that covered her body, which he craved as a man yearns for water in the desert, he wanted to feel her skin upon his, he wanted to learn her beautiful curves once again, he wanted to drown in her depths and never come back...

He didn't even let her step out of the dress pooling at her feet, latching his mouth to her bare neck, licking and sucking while his hands explored her bosom under the thin smallclothes. A rippling sound and shortly the white material joined the gown on the floor, neither of them caring, only the present existed and each other, no questions, no thoughts, no doubts. She gasped as his thumb brushed against a nipple, and he smirked against her skin, trailing lower and lower.

The leather holding back his hair was pulled out roughly, and her fingers found their way into his curls, urging, demanding and pleading at the same time, and he obeyed gladly, moving to draw a diamond-hard nipple between his lips while he palmed her other breast with a hand. She cried out as he gently bit down then soothed it with his tongue. _Gods_ , she was so delicious. He could’ve tasted her for hours, but it seemed like she had other plans as she yanked him up to crash their mouths together.

Her lips parted with a gasp and he used the opportunity to dip his tongue inside, his hands never stopping in their caress. Warm fingers slid across his skin, just above the waist, and he couldn’t think about anything else but her touch, how soft yet fierce she was, how she tugged on the linen covering his chest, how her hands sneaked up under his shirt–

Suddenly, she broke away from him, panting heavily, a mortified expression on her face. She was so beautiful, standing inches away from him only in her breeches, chest heaving, nipples hard and perky.

“Jon,” she whispered, palm flat on his abdomen, her other hand gripping the hem of his shirt tightly. She wanted to lift it but he took her wrist to still her.

“Take this off. Please,” her voice was confused and pleading, and he cursed himself for being such an idiot. He had the chance to tell her and he didn't.

 _You didn't know it’d come to this,_ he tried to convince himself, even though he was sure he pretty much _wanted_ it to come to this.

Her hands dropped when he stepped back, and he already felt the reality’s coldness seep back into his bones, his body missing the feel of her as one would miss a lost limb. With a long, trembling breath he peeled off the cloth, leaving his upper body bare for her to see.

Jon clenched his fists and looked away, not knowing what to expect now. Would she be afraid? Disgusted? Would she be angry that he kept this from her? _But we’ve just met,_ he tried to argue with himself, yet this little voice of reason became weaker and weaker. He wouldn’t have been doing _all that_ to her if it was the first time they’ve seen each other.

From the corner of his eye, he saw her figure shifting, coming closer.

“So it was true. The knife to the heart.” It was a statement, not a question, and he didn't try to deny it, only lifted his gaze to her. “I didn't see these... When...”

“Aye. It happened after.” All those emotions that shimmered in her eyes, it was simply too much. “I’m sorry I didn't tell you,” he rasped and wanted to turn away, only for her to close the remaining distance between them and stop him, her arms wrapped fast around his middle, cheek resting on his chest.

“You could’ve been taken away from me,” she murmured and her nails dig into his skin, “They could’ve robbed me of the chance to finally see you.”

His hands moved on their own as they enclosed around her shoulder, and he buried his face in her hair, inhaling her sweet scent. How could he feel so many things for her already? How could he let her in so easily, when his first instinct would be to push her away, to run and never look back, to not let her know his heart? How could she penetrate his mind and soul with a simple embrace?

He knew, of course. They knew each other. They _needed_ each other, they always did.

“I’m here.” He tightened his hold around her, “I won’t go anywhere.” Daenerys looked up then, and he finally saw the unshed tears in her eyes, the yearning, the relief, the fierce anger, and at that moment he knew that he would never leave her, not willingly.

“And they?”

“All dead.”

“Good,” she replied and rose onto her tiptoes, pressing their lips together.

The kiss was slow, sensual, their previous wildness and urgency gone, at least for now. How much it would last, he didn't know. They took their time to explore each other, to feel each other, their touches light and gentle, their hearts open.

There were still so many things they had to speak about, so many sorrows to share, so many problems to solve, yet none of it mattered, not right then. It was only _them_ , their _warmth_ , their _love_.

Because it was love, he knew, not at the first sight but at the thousandth. It was the love he felt for years, every night when they met and every day he remembered, the love he had never forgotten, not even after the dreams stopped.

He grazed her bottom lip with his teeth then slid his tongue into her mouth while her hands found their way to his pants, trying to get rid of the layers still between them. His cock throbbed in painful excitement as she brushed over the covered bulge, and he felt his patience running out. He needed her and _needed her now_ , his senses overwhelmed, mind fuzzy and distraught _._ With a strangled curse he lunged and pushed her against the wall, his hands gripping at the fine cheeks of her arse and lifting her with a powerful heave.

Daenerys yelped and held on to his shoulder as he walked them to the bed. He laid her down carefully, then helped her get her breeches and boots off before stepping out of his own.

There she lay in all her grace and he couldn’t help but stand in silent admiration.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered and dipped to plant a kiss to her stomach, then to her navel. She squirmed in anticipation as his chin brushed the white pubic hairs on her mound, and he smirked against her skin. His lips trailed lower, all the way down, making her shudder as he reached the wetness between her legs and inhaled the addicting scent of her arousal.

With a dip of his head he dove in, lapping at her folds, then a few moments later his mouth closed around that little, firm nub just above her lower lips and sucked at it, hard enough to make her hips buckle against him. He wound an arm over her navel, shortly followed by one over her thigh to hold her down, relishing in her little moans and impatient gasps.

His tongue flicked _that spot_ , circled around the tiny pearl over and over in a way that caused her to drop her head back and cry out for mercy, yet he wouldn’t slow down, not until she started to shake vigorously, her nails digging into his scalp, and she broke apart to let him drink up every last drop of her essence.

Jon made his way up to her face again and planted butterfly-kisses all over her cheeks while she recovered. Abruptly her hands jerked up and yanked him down into a feverish kiss, but it didn't last long as she unexpectedly pushed at him with a force he didn't know she possessed. He fell on his back and she took her place on his thighs, his cock standing in full attention before her.

His heart was beating so loudly he wouldn’t have been surprised if the whole castle could hear it. Like she was listening to what he was thinking, Daenerys leaned forward and put a palm over the crescent-shaped scar, probably wanting to feel how it pumped the blood, _the life_ through his veins.

“I’m so glad you are alive,” she murmured, her eyes mirroring all the gratitude and adoration he felt, “I’m so glad that you are _real_.”

She lifted herself off him and positioned her entrance above his cock, eyes never leaving his. Then shifting her hips just in the right way to accommodate him she slid down, working herself down slowly on his girth. A gasp slipped both from their lips as he finally got fully sheathed in her. It was an overwhelming sensation, something he’d never felt before, something that filled up his whole being with a warmth he never experienced, not even back _then_.

A rotate of her hips made his eyes roll back and he gripped at her flesh, he needed something to hold onto as she rode him or he would fall helplessly into the blind abyss stretching behind his eyes. It was too much yet he needed more, the heat of her engulfing his body, red spots dancing behind his lashes as she moved over him, dropping down on his length again and again. Then he couldn’t bear it anymore, he braced his feet on the mattress and thrust upwards, having her throw her head back and scream his name.

Her muscles clenched around him so he knew she was close. With a sudden momentum he sat. She hissed in pleasure but never stopped moving, her hands circled around his shoulders and as she braced herself he turned them over, not wasting a moment to push into her with renewed vigour.

For a moment they halted. His face hovered over hers, their lips parted, breathing each other in. Candlelight flicked in her violet orbs with something else behind them, something profound and beautiful that couldn’t be expressed by words, a look that caused a painful bliss to strain his chest.

Then he lunged again, crushing their mouths together in a dance of lips and tongues and teeth. With one of her knees hooked over his forearm, he started rutting into her, fast and strong, the weight of his body pinning her to the bed.

A powerful thrust made his cock kiss the entrance of her womb and she tensed, then broke apart with a strangled cry, walls convulsing around him and he rammed into her throughout her release. He bit down on the spot where her neck met her shoulder _hard_ , to stifle the noises that came from between his lips as he fell over the peak. One more plunge and he erupted, his seed spilling into the very depths of her.

Any strength had before drained from him and he collapsed, both of them breathing heavy. It took a great effort to move off her, every muscle in his body screamed in protest as he slipped free and fell over to his side.

She snuggled close to him so that he could drape an arm around her middle, and he smiled, a feeling of content and happiness he hadn’t known before getting a hold of his heart. His last thought before sleep claimed him was that he would never, _never_ let her go.

 

 

A full bladder and the sound of soft snores woke her. Daenerys blinked in confusion, everything around her strange, unfamiliar. This was not her room. She rose slowly and a hand she didn't know slid down on her stomach. For a second panic gripped her insides, but then memories of the previous night came back, rushing to the fore.

_Jon._

It was so sweet and so good and so beautiful, she had a hard time to believe it happened at all. That she finally found him, after all those years of yearning and loneliness.

She turned back to take a look at him, something she had never had the chance to do, since she always woke alone in her bed, often crying after she dreamt of him. But now he was really here. She lifted her hand to wipe off the tears gathered in her eyes with the back of her wrist. _He is real. He lives._

The movement of her arm caused a twinge of sharp pain at the base of her neck. Her fingers touched the tender skin there, grateful and strangely giddy, remembering how he bit her like the wolf he was in the moment of his oblivion. She could feel him now, even when she was not with him, and that was the thought that finally had her get out of the bed, careful not to wake the sleeping man beside her.

After attending her needs at the privy, Dany padded back to the bed silently, still naked as her nameday. Her eyes raked over his body, appreciating the hard muscles of his back, her strong legs, arms, shapely ass. Rage flared inside her as she got a glimpse of the angry, red scars on his chest and abdomen. Who could do such a thing to this brave, kind and beautiful man? Whoever they were, she hoped they suffered.

She might not know everything he went through but she knew his soul, and that’s what mattered.

She crawled on the bed and curled beside him. His eyes opened slowly, then he held out his hands wide for her to snuggle into him.

“Good mornin’,” he breathed, nose burrowed in her hair.

“It’s still dark out there,” her voice was barely a whisper.

He sighed in relief, the sound filling her heart with warmth. “Then we still have time.”

“Not much. Not enough.” She tightened her arms around him. “I don’t want you to go,” the words slipped out before she could stop them, and she buried her face into his chest to hide her embarrassment and desperation.

“Then I won't.” The steel in his tone made her look up at him in disbelief, he couldn’t possibly–

“I’ve told you already.” He took her hand to place it over the moon-shaped scar of his heart. “I won't go anywhere. I’ll stay here, as long as you’ll let me.”

“But our advisors? You are a king and I’m a–”

“You are a queen. The Breaker of Chains. You bring freedom, Daenerys.” His rough palm cupped her cheek. She leaned into it instinctively before he continued. “You fight for your people but you are not supposed to become a slave in the process. I won't let anythin’ or anyone chain you up, not your men, not your advisors, not even yourself.”

His thumb wiped off the tears she didn't even notice streaming from her face.

And as his lips brushed against hers, she felt like she finally found the home. She wouldn’t be alone, not anymore.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, Comments and Bookmarks, as well as constructive criticism are always appreciated! Please, let me know what you think :)
> 
> P.S. I just _might_ write a drabble of Tyrion, Varys and Dadvos-That-is-My-Boy-Jon's reaction, just for fun.

**Author's Note:**

> I intended for this to have a second chapter, but I don't think I'll continue. We'll see, though :)
> 
> Kudos, Comments and Bookmarks, as well as constructive criticism are always appreciated!


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